


Scar Tissue

by epochjeong (pinkwinwin)



Category: VICTON (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Relationships, Blood, Implied Sexual Content, Los Angeles, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, Vampire Bites, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:54:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25133482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkwinwin/pseuds/epochjeong
Summary: The stereotype about vampires is that their eyes always glow red, that their fangs push beyond their lips and make them stand out like a sore thumb. It couldn’t be further from the truth, because the Byungchan standing in front of him has eyes the color of a night sky and lips the color of candied peaches, only a blindingly white smile behind them.He is beautiful, he is an illusion.or, Vampires in Los Angeles
Relationships: Choi Byungchan/Do Hanse
Comments: 7
Kudos: 54
Collections: Lucky 7 Victon





	Scar Tissue

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to the mods who ran this fest, it was an honor to participate!
> 
> I wanted to play with the idea of a more confident, flirty, quick-witted Byungchan in this universe, and I think vampires is the perfect way to explore that. And Hanse is a natural vampire in my mind. This fic ended up being a little more serious than I originally planned, but I do hope my prompter still likes it!
> 
> [fic/title inspo from here](https://youtu.be/U7k2qv8KTDI)

A golden city, sun-soaked and overpopulated with more prying eyes than anywhere else in the world, is not the place that Hanse ever thought about settling down in. When you have immortality you can live anywhere, be anyone, but something about the pull of beaches and the Hollywood sign felt comfortable to Hanse. Felt familiar, even if he didn’t spend any of his mortal life here.

  
  
Perhaps the mind has a strange way of working, ushering you towards a place that will change your afterlife. That’s what Hanse tells himself, anyway, tucking the sunglasses into his hair and scanning the streets with dark eyes. It’s shockingly easy to blend in here, with more offbeat lifestyles than he can wrap his head around filtering in and out of neighborhoods, nearly brushing past Hanse when he goes to get his morning coffee.

  
  
Their smell is always a subtle urge, but tonight there is a particularly intoxicating scent coming from the bar on the corner. He sees the man before the man sees him, toned and tall and kissed by the sun. He turns his head away from Hanse, dark hair blowing in the breeze and satin shirt draped across his body. It’s pale, the kind of color that would look striking tinted in deep crimson.

  
  
Hanse licks his lips, tongues at the jewelry embedded into his crooked smile. That thought will have to wait, for now.

  
Hanse walks closer, footsteps muffled from years of practice. In no time at all he is on the man’s trail, weaving through the crowd that tapers off until there are few witnesses to what is about to happen. The smell is… different, unlike anything Hanse has smelled before. Sweet and spicy with a twinge of metal, it’s combination only pushing him forward in attempts to taste it for himself.

The man seems oblivious, walking between the streetlights and turning the corner to a less-populated street. Hanse’s lips curl into a dangerous smile at this, knowing he has the man exactly where he wants him. As he gets closer, he feels the sweet satisfaction coiling in the pit of his stomach, and the man steps into the shadows—

  
  
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the man says, turning around at a lightning speed. His voice is velvet smooth and even in the darkness Hanse can see the glowing crimson in his eyes and the angle of his fangs as he sneers.

And it’s surreal, seeing a reflection of yourself when you haven’t stood in front of a mirror in decades. 

Hanse steps back, trying to mask his surprise. “You’re—”

  
  
“Surprise,” he smiles, voice velvet and fangs glistening.

  
  
And Hanse runs— out of the alley, down the street, to his car. Shaky hands take a moment to unlock it, before his body can slide into the leather seat and take a breath. His head thuds against the headrest, his eyes slide shut. 

  
  
Hanse has never seen anyone like him before, not since the day he was turned and certainly not in this part of Los Angeles. Thrusted into the world with nothing but a newfound taste for blood and the curse of living until the sun bled out of the sky.

A quiet click brings him out of his thoughts.

“Wow, you drive?” he asks, slipping into the passenger seat smooth as silk. Hanse grips the steering wheel tighter as he nearly jumps out of his seat.

  
  
_ “Fuck,” _ he hisses, “why are you following me?”

He shrugs, cream shirt hanging loose on his frame. His shoulders are alarmingly broad for someone who moves so fluidly, but that is a thought for a time when the alarm bells in Hanse’s head are not screaming at their full capacity. 

  
  
“You seem surprised to see me,” he explains, turning his head to look at Hanse. His eyes glow in the low light of the car, enticing crimson. “And if you’re planned on feeding off me, the least you can do is drive me home.”   
  


  
  
  
  


  
  
Hanse does take him home that night— and for weeks after that, they constantly run into each other. He knows it isn’t coincidence, because one of the most unique and possibly annoying things about vampires is you can smell them anywhere. Each undead soul has a particular cocktail of scent that makes them identifiable no matter where they are in the city.

  
  
The vampire tells him his name one night when Hanse finds him leaning against the hood of his car— Byungchan. A beautiful name for a beautiful creature hellbent on making Hanse’s life a nightmare, as it seems.

  
  
“You really should actually come  _ into _ my house some night,” Byungchan tells him, eyes wide and innocent. “I have a little something to teach you.”   
  


The stereotype about vampires is that their eyes always glow red, that their fangs push beyond their lips and make them stand out like a sore thumb. It couldn’t be further from the truth, because the Byungchan standing in front of him has eyes the color of a night sky and lips the color of candied peaches, only a blindingly white smile behind them. 

He is beautiful, he is an illusion.

And so Hanse, perhaps enticed enough by that illusion to humor him, shows up to Byungchan’s house one hot July evening. The sun had just stretched beneath the horizon, the last fading hues of orange and navy tinting the clouds. Hanse pockets his car keys and walks up to the house, pristine lawn and manicured planter boxes line the walkway to a modernly designed home, smart and sharp angles and delightfully cold. 

He rings the bell, black nails shining beneath the porch light. When Byungchan opens the door a minute later, he stands there with an open dress shirt and a pair of dark navy shorts.

  
  
“About time you showed up,” he says, tilting his head and taking in Hanse’s appearance with a frown. “Do you always dress like Marilyn Manson?” 

  
  
“Do you always dress like a seductive pool boy?” Hanse answers, stepping into the entryway. The floors are dark linoleum and the walls are painted a sleek gray. Large-scale photographs hang on the walls, high fashion and beautiful people stare back at the two of them. Hanse is led through the house and into the backyard, but before they walk through the glass doors he spots a photograph of Byungchan and another man leaning against each other in suits.

  
  
“Why do you have your own photo over the fireplace?” Hanse asks, and Byungchan shrugs casually.

  
  
“I’m a model, I get those kinds of gifts from photographers all the time,” he answers, kicking off his slides and letting his bare feet sink into the lush grass. 

  
  
Hanse takes a second to take in the backyard, eyeing the pool at the far edge with a sleek waterfall lit up in green cascading into the water. He sees a cabana with string lights strung and twinkling against the frame, he sees imported plants that cost more than Hanse’s rent lining the edge of the fence.

  
  
Most surprising of all is the large tree, climbing high enough to reach the sky in the center of the backyard. Hanse has to crane his neck to look up, it’s thick trunk a pillar in the night. It stretches up and curves, a manmade platform at the very top branch like a floating deck above the property.

  
  
“What the hell is this?” Hanse asks, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Byungchan wiggle his fingers. He turns to Byungchan just as he begins to roll his neck, stopping halfway to give Hanse a smile.

  
  
“I’m going to teach you what it means to be a vampire in  _ this _ century,” Byungchan answers, which isn’t much of an answer at all. But it becomes shockingly clear when he is gone in a flash, moving at an alarming rate across the lawn and up the tree. He effortlessly scales it, climbing up the trunk faster than humanly possible. Before Hanse can blink, Byungchan is on the top platform, sitting on the edge and letting his legs swing in the breeze.

  
  
“See?” Byungchan calls down, hair looking wind-blown and a wide smile on his face that Hanse can make out even from this distance. “It’s easy!”

  
  
“No wonder you don’t have neighbors for miles,” Hanse shouts back, and Byungchan waves his hand dismissively.

  
  
“Come on up,” he replies, and Hanse realizes he has no choice. He looks down at his boots for a moment, at the ripped jeans that are sure to catch in a stray branch if he isn’t careful. He thinks about the adornment of silver rings on his fingers and chains hanging low down the front of his shirt. He is nothing but an occupational hazard, a body to look menacing and tough but the simple idea of scaling a tree is too threatening.

  
  
Hanse takes a breath, thinks about the night when Byungchan told him he needs to stop being afraid to live. How hiding away in a dark apartment and only slinking down into the city at night was no way to spend an existence, not when they can soak up the sun and laugh with the rest of the world.

  
  
And so he climbs, fast enough so that the breeze cards through his hair and his muscles strain and in an instant his breath is drum-kicked out of his lungs, sitting next to Byungchan looking out at a view that could rival the best thing Hollywood could put out.

  
  
“One hell of a view,” Hanse says, breathless, hands gripping the edge of the platform. He lets his legs swing out into the air, mirroring Byungchan.

  
  
Byungchan laughs at this, really laughs, and Hanse feels breathless all over again at the sound. And when Byungchan leans against his side and looks out at the twinkling lights of the city in the distance, Hanse feels a warmth spread through his body that he hasn’t felt since he had a beating heart and a death date.

  
  
“Welcome to your new life,” Byungchan says, and his voice is different. No cocky confidence or teasing remarks, his words laced with genuine emotion. It’s refreshing in a way that not even the fresh air at this height can touch, that not even the view of the City of Angels could compare to.

  
  
Hanse reaches down to lace their fingers together, and for the first time he finds himself looking forward to something.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Moonlight is where vampires shine best, perhaps the most cliche thing that Hanse will admit to. He finds comfort in the liquid silver that covers his body, that makes him feel a little less alone in this existence. His comfort, when the rest of the world gives him nothing but pain.

  
  
But Byungchan was made for the sun.   
  


Another myth debunked, vampires have no problem in the daylight. That is perhaps most apparent when Hanse feels Byungchan pull away from him, lets his hand slip away so he can stand in the middle of an empty street with his arms stretched out like he’s feeling the sun for the first time in his life.

  
  
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Byungchan asks, sunglasses high on the bridge of his nose. He runs his fingers through his hair and practically preens at the light that hits his face. Hanse can’t help but pull out his phone, snap a picture that he’ll claim he only took to fuel Byungchan’s model ego. One that he’ll look at long after they’ve parted for the night.

  
  
“I’m starting to see the appeal,” Hanse replies, sun hot on his neck and warm in his heart.   
  
  
  
  
  


  
The question comes one night in bed, glasses of wine left half-finished on the dresser and the light in the hallway their only illumination. Hanse is kissing down Byungchan’s bare shoulder, feeling the natural curve of his frame beneath his lips. Byungchan hums in satisfaction, his right hand coming up to thread through Hanse’s dark hair. For a moment his fingers brush against a scar, a crescent-moon shape behind Hanse’s right ear where decades ago a pair of fangs were plunged into his skin.

  
  
“How were you turned?” Byungchan asks quietly, eyes turned towards the window. Looking at the stars that lay studded against the velvet night. Hanse stops, reaches down to slowly intertwine their free hands. Lifts his lips just far enough away from Byungchan’s skin to answer him.

  
  
“I was alone,” he answers. “Left in the street to fend for myself. I never even knew his name.”

  
  
Hanse knows how Bynugchan was turned, knows the man that poses with him in so many modeling editorials is the one that gave him eternal life. His mentor, his supporter, his best friend. Hanse also knows he was not so fortunate, not given this gift in kindness like Byungchan was.

  
  
“You must’ve been very lonely.” Byungchan whispers, finally turning to look at Hanse. His eyes are dark but they shine with emotion, with tears clinging to his long lashes. Hanse reaches up to cradle his face, thumb away the tears.

  
  
“I was,” he answers honestly. “But I’m not anymore.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Hanse meets the ones that Byungchan calls family, sees how his smiles grow wider and his steps grow lighter when he’s around them. He leads Hanse by the arm around the small get-together at his home, introducing him to every vampire there.

  
  
“This is Seungwoo,” Byungchan says, and Hanse shakes the hand of the vampire who is in so many photos alongside Byungchan, who has a comforting smile and a calming aura around him.

  
  
“I’ve heard so much about you,” Hanse explains, and Seungwoo tilts his head back in laughter.

  
  
“Only good things, I hope.”

  
  
Hanse smiles at him, warmer this time. “Of course.”

  
  
And he meets Seungwoo’s partner, his mate, the markings off a bite clear just above his collarbone. His voice is soft and his smile is gentle, and Hanse learns he too works in the industry. He hears that they all are, because nobody questions how beautiful someone is or how they never seem to age in a field that cherishes just that.

  
  
Hanse spends the rest of the evening chatting with the designer who has a laughter that fills the entire house, the photographers who make Hanse feel comfortable and who praise Byungchan on his newest project. It is an evening of socializing, of meeting the ones that helped make Byungchan feel less alone.

  
  
Hanse is thankful for every one of them.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Sitting under the moonlight is one of Hanse’s favorite things, something that makes him feel like the most real version of himself. He is used to doing it alone, of leaning back and counting the stars as they twinkle against the sky. But now he has someone sitting at his side, someone who links arms with him and rests their chin on his shoulder.

  
  
“I like coming out here,” Byungchan says softly, playing with Hanse’s fingers as he looks up at the moon. “It’s nice to sit in the quiet.”

  
  
They are in Byungchan’s backyard, the bench beneath them stone and nestled in the softness of the grass beneath their feet. Hanse spends more time here than his own home, finds more comfort in a space where he can hear the voice of someone he loves. His mind wanders— to the new friends he made, and how Seungsik had his mark so proudly out in the open. There is something beautiful about bearing the bite of your partner, a commitment to bond for the rest of their existence.

  
  
“Hey,” Hanse says softly, and Byungchan hums, all musical and familiar. He lifts his chin up, looks into Hanse’s eyes and it feels so right. His fingers trace over Byungchan’s heart, clothed in the same cream satin shirt he wore on the day they met. “Do you ever think about a bonding mark?”

  
  
And Byungchan smiles, and it’s so welcoming and whole. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  
  
Hanse’s hands no longer shake when he unbuttons Byungchan’s shirt, just enough to expose part of his chest. Byungchan loops his arms around Hanse’s shoulders as he leans in, lips brushing against the skin over his heart. When his fangs sink in he tastes the sweet and spice of the one he loves, lingering on his tongue and filling his mouth. His blood is unlike anything he’s ever tasted, and Byungchan sighs in satisfaction and threads his fingers in Hanse’s hair to pull him closer. When he does pull away it’s only enough to look at Byungchan, to see the expression full of love and the blood staining his shirt. Crimson and cream, mingling together and becoming one.

It blooms like a flower opening up to the sun, and it’s the most beautiful thing Hanse has ever seen.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Over the years, Hanse has found comfort in the warmth of the sun.

  
  
It is a stark contrast to who he was before, only living in the shadows and subscribing to the idea that he had to be mysterious, had to be threatening and cold to the world around him. Now he lets the morning sun rouse him, pull him from the clutches of sleep where he lays tangled in sheets. He pulls his body from the bed covers and sees the one he loves, golden and sunkissed and laying against white silk. 

  
  
“Good morning,” Byungchan says, a smile playing on his lips and his eyes closed. He lets his hand wander, finding Hanse’s arm and trailing up the skin. A comforting touch in the early morning hours.

  
  
“Morning,” Hanse says, leaning down to connect their lips. It is slow and languid, and when he pulls away Byungchan is smiling even wider. Hanse reaches down, fingertips light and airy as they trail against his chest. They find the crescent moon shape above Byungchan’s heart, his fingers pressing into the scar tissue there. And it is so beautiful, to see their bond shining in the light. To know that it is nothing to hide, that it is something beautiful instead of something to be hidden away. Hanse presses into it with his fingers, and Byungchan sighs beneath his touch. A ray of light slowly seeps over them, illuminating the spot where Hanse touches the vampire beneath him. And it is beautiful, it is stunning.

  
  
Because Byungchan was always made for the sun, and Hanse realizes he was, too.    
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! <3


End file.
